


It's a Downpour (But You're Still Here)

by darthearts



Category: I.O.I (Band), K-pop, Wonder Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthearts/pseuds/darthearts
Summary: Chungha, unable to move on from IOI, meets Sunmi.





	It's a Downpour (But You're Still Here)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care if no one reads this because the number of sunmixchungha fics are so little, I need to provide an oasis for myself in the midst of this never-ending drought. (Okay, maybe I do care. A little.) (Actually inspired by weekly idol.) I am going to write sunmixchungha (chungmi? sunha?) and I am going to post it and I don't care if no one ships it. I WILL ROW THIS LITTLE CANOE BY MYSELF.

Kim Chungha believes that she takes the rain with her wherever she goes. Dark grey clouds and torrential rain seem to follow her, almost as if she is a harbinger of unfavorable weather. Her manager dismisses the phenomenon as merely the rainy season but she thinks that it is too much of a coincidence for it to truly be a coincidence. It has happened so frequently that she has started to imagine herself as a kind of jinx, or an icon for bad luck.

Even though she knows that rain trails after her like a chasing shadow, she never brings an umbrella anyway, choosing to get caught in the shower. She lets the raindrops pelt against her skin—and they create a sort of rhythm; a rhythm she calls her own heartbeat. (It does not matter if it is inconsistent because at the very least, she feels it.)

Then her manager has to rush towards her, holding an open umbrella in one hand while wearing a frantic expression, puddles of water splashing against her manager’s shoes. She always gets chided at for wandering around in the open while it is raining, but she never minds—preparing an umbrella beforehand feels almost unnatural to her, like it is something she should not do. Perhaps it is the temporal nature of the shelter an umbrella provides, or how the rain seems to be inescapable, Chungha thinks of the attempt as futile.

Even now, as she resides in her dressing room, waiting to be called up on stage, the rain is relentlessly colliding against her window—almost as if it is looking for her. The sound of the rain fills the empty room and Chungha is grateful. She would rather hear the rain than vacant silence.

Even though she has been carrying out her solo activities for a while now, she can never really get used to the lack of noise. The IOI members were always so rowdy—and colorful. If she closes her eyes, it is not hard to imagine them playing around, the room bustling with liveliness. (Somi and Kyulkyung’s voice would be the loudest of all. Their voices would definitely be followed by Nayoung’s strict leader voice, telling everyone to try to calm down.) She cannot fathom how the dressing room seems so huge now.

Her days as a soloist are a far cry from her days as a member of IOI.

In retrospect, maybe she should not have let herself gotten too close for comfort, for she knew that IOI had a deadline. But it was difficult not to get close, the IOI members were open, welcoming, accepting, and now she cannot remember how her life was like before IOI. She was supposed to move on. It has been months since IOI officially disbanded. And yet, it always feels like it was just yesterday when all eleven of them were together.

Chungha tries her best to cling on to whatever is left of IOI. She keeps the IOI friendship ring wound around her left index finger, she saves their group photo and uses it as her phone wallpaper, she even has one of their group photos printed out and framed up. Even so, she knows these are mere representations of what once was and it is not truly IOI; Mementos and photos cannot capture the cheerfulness and boisterousness they possess.

The feeling is more than what books and novels usually describe. It feels more than a piece of her missing, it is more than simply incompleteness. Without the other ten members beside her, she feels crippled, dysfunctional, like she cannot get anything right.

And right on cue, a staff knocks on the door and pops her head in, “Chungha-ssi, it’s time for your solo stage. Are you ready?”

She can only wear a small, resigned smile.

“Yes.”

///

The car ride to her salon is quiet. She would usually make some small talk with her manager at least but today in particular, her tongue feels too big for her mouth and she does not know what to say. It seems like her manager knows, because he simply flicks on the radio, content with soft ballads filling the silence.

Chungha just stares out the window. It is times like these, when work does not swamp her and she has time to think, that she remembers IOI. She really wishes the other ten did not surface in her mind so much because it just reminds her of how alone she is but she cannot help it. It is hard not to wonder how they are doing; if they are sleeping well or eating well.

She considers shooting them a message in the group chat but decides not to in the end. (She knows she will feel even emptier after receiving their replies.)

Trying to rid her mind of negative thoughts, she adjusts her focus to the scenery outside the vehicle once more. Nightfall and rain seem to have dipped the sky in sheer black paint. It feels like a long while before they finally arrive at their destination, the car stopping noiselessly in front of the entrance.

When Chungha steps into her usual salon, she expects to be greeted by emptiness but instead, there is a terribly cheery voice that almost seems to disturb the silence of the room. It is ten in the evening and her salon would usually be empty. She would not even be here if she did not have a weekly idol filming later near midnight. As she nears the chirpy voice, she soon realizes that the voice originates from a sunbae—the very same sunbae whom she would film weekly idol with later.

Her first instinct is to make a deep bow while greeting her. The Korean entertainment industry is cutthroat and being aware of the hierarchy and respecting sunbaes are very significant. Being in favour with a sunbae (especially the long-standing, famous ones) means possibly obtaining more opportunities and getting a good public image. As she is Canadian, it makes it all the more harder for her to understand the complexities and inner-workings of the industry, which is why she would rather be too formal rather than lax.

“Good evening, sunbaenim!”

What immediately follows is an all too feminine giggle that Chungha struggles not to cringe at. As she lifts her head, she notices how the sunbae has on what seems to be a friendly smile, her head tilted to one side, straight jet-black hair gathering and falling past her left shoulder elegantly. The blatant red lipstick she has on is so glaring juxtaposed to her pale white skin, Chungha finds it difficult to tear her eyes away from the sunbae’s lips.

“You must be Chungha,” the sunbae guesses before introducing herself. “I’m Sunmi. It’s really nice to be able to meet you.”

Chungha bows again, “No, the honour is all mine, sunbaenim.”

Sunmi, with her pretty eyes and pretty smile, beckons Chungha over, tapping the seat next to her eagerly. Chungha wishes she can reject; she is not really in the mood for conversation this late into the night. She would really rather save the conversation for later during the filming than talk now but she tries a small smile, hoping it would not come across as a wince.

When she was with IOI, she was more inclined to conversations. She was open and vulnerable, but it was okay because she had ten other friends with her—they could console her, protect her. (And now, she has no one.)

The loneliness that engulfs her even when she isn’t alone is a stinging reminder that she really is all alone.

As she tries her best to feel comfortable and at ease with the current situation, Sunmi leans in, effectively intruding her personal space. Her first instinct is to jerk away and she does exactly that, only to inhale sharply when she realizes that the action might have seemed impolite.

“I’m sorry, sunbaenim! You surprised me,” she apologizes profusely.

Sunmi laughs it off, “No, I was too eager. It happens a lot.”

Sunmi laughs a lot, Chungha notices, often tossing her hair to one side and covering her mouth with a single hand daintily as she does so. Even the tone of her laughter is high-pitched and girly—everything about her just spells femininity. Chungha would not be surprised if the sunbae had tons of male suitors trying to court her. This sunbae could even be dating now—she does give off the aura of a girl in love with how giggly she acts.

Chungha shakes her head adamantly, “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re too tensed, Chungha-yah!” she exclaims, placing a gentle hand on Chungha’s shoulder. “Relax. Don’t be too nervous around me.”

Somehow, the hand on her shoulder feels more unnerving than comforting and she tries to refrain from shrugging the hand off. She knows that Sunmi only has good intentions. Her eyes are kind and bright with a kind of feminine innocence, almost to the point of naivete. But Chungha cannot suppress this feeling of reluctance and aversion that is steadily growing in her chest. She wonders why she cannot seem to control her own emotions because this sunbae is so accepting and unguarded, there is no reason why she should be feeling like this.

She presses her lips together and forces herself to smile, “I’ll try, sunbaenim.”

The conversation soon dies down when Sunmi mentions how tired she is due to comeback preparation and wants to get some shuteye. Sunmi closes her eyes and soon drifts off to sleep. She is so motionless that if not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, Chungha might have mistaken her to be dead. It nearly scares Chungha, how someone so bubbly and full of life can be so still and silent. Now, Sunmi looks like art—so beautiful, but static. Her heart jumps and she has to clench her fist to resist the urge to wake Sunmi up.

Chungha isn’t sure why her emotions are in a flurry and she can hardly keep them in check. She is repulsed by Sunmi’s optimism but she also does not want that life in her to die.

The makeup artist continues her work using a brush, the tips of it gently grazing against the tip of Sunmi’s nose. Chungha just stares at the girl as her own stylist paints her lips a natural pink. Sunmi’s makeup artist seems to have noticed Chungha’s eyes on Sunmi, for she chuckles lowly.

“She _is_ very pretty, isn’t she?” the makeup artist asks, wearing an amused smile.

The sudden question flusters Chungha, “A-Ah. Right. Yes, she is.”

The makeup artist shakes her head fondly at Sunmi, “Pretty, but she’s a handful sometimes.”

“She’s lively,” Chungha tries a neutral comment.

A laugh. “It might be a bit much at first but… it’s also what makes her so lovable, you know? She’s a real sunshine.”

As she nods, her eyes wander to the window and the scenery outside. The rain is letting up but it’s still just as dark as before. Her vision is filled with blackness and she briefly wonders how the city would look like if it was caressed by sunshine.

///

It is not the first time she has been to the Weekly Idol studio but somehow, the backdrop feels whiter and paler than the last time she was here. Hyungdon sunbae and Defconn sunbae are very accommodating people. They joke around a lot but Chungha feels like the comedic face they put on is meant to put her at ease during the filming. It is heartwarming and Chungha feels herself lightening up as filming proceeds smoothly.

Throughout the shoot, Sunmi grows increasingly comfortable and daring with her. The sunbae showers her with praise and compliments, ranging from “Chungha is really talented!” to “So cute!”. As if verbally expressing her affections are not enough, Sunmi’s hands wander a lot, cupping her cheeks, patting her head, stroking her shoulder, winding around her waist.

The first touches had Chungha wincing internally but by the middle of filming, Chungha finds herself returning Sunmi’s affections. She surprises herself when she takes the initiative to hug Sunmi first. Perhaps it is the warmth of her smile, or the light in her eyes, but Chungha finds herself unconsciously gravitating towards the older girl. It is unnerving how she cannot understand why she is starting to want to be near to Sunmi.

She dismisses it as the exhaustion getting to her (but she worries that it is something more).

It is three in the morning when they finally take a break from filming. Hyungdon and Defconn goes off to discuss with the producers about the rest of the shoot. Chungha can feel the tiredness seeping into her bones and she walks off set alone, figuring that she’ll just find a quiet place to rest a while. Her feet are aching in her boots but she continues walking anyway, wanting to get some fresh air.

She ends up at the rooftop of the building and she is pleasantly surprised to see that the rooftop has a garden adorned with bright flowers and a small body of water with coins in it. She settles on a wooden bench, sighing in relief as she sits down.

The fresh air clears the haze in her mind a little and her shoulders don’t feel too weighed down with burden. She looks off into the far distance—the sky is still dark but there is a soft breeze that caresses her cheeks and her heart. Her chest does not feel as tight now and while the thought of IOI surfaces in her head, it’s not something that hurts her heart.

She allows herself to smile for once—heart light and warm.

“You should smile more.”

The voice startles her and she jolts and whips her head around, only relaxing when she sees Sunmi approaching her. Instincts have her standing up and bowing immediately while greeting Sunmi. The older girl joins her, sitting down on the bench and patting the space where Chungha was sitting.

“You’re so painfully polite sometimes,” Sunmi comments as Chungha obediently takes her seat.

“I-Is that not a good thing, sunbaenim?” she asks, worry clouding her head and she stumbles over her words.

Chungha expects Sunmi to laugh but the sunbae doesn’t. Instead, she wears a soft smile, eyes finding Chungha’s.

“It’s good. You’re just a little distant…” she trails off, before grinning, “Your politeness is cute.”

Even though the sunbae is grinning, Chungha thought that the smile Sunmi wore was not only small, but wistful. Sad, even.

Her thoughts are interrupted when she feels something shockingly cold press against her cheek. She blinks before registering Sunmi’s mischievous expression. The girl waves a can of coffee in front of her before pressing it against her other cheek again.

“S-Sunbae!” she shrieks due to the cold.

It makes Sunmi laugh, “Chungha-yah! You’re too cute!”

She clicks open the can before passing it to Chungha, smiling as she opens her own can. She sips on it lightly, shaking her head and dismisses Chungha’s thanks for the coffee. Chungha starts drinking from her can too, feeling the cold liquid make its way down her throat. She sneaks wary glances at Sunmi, unsure if she should start a conversation.

“Aren’t you tired?” Sunmi immediately turns to her when she asks the question. “You’re preparing for your comeback after all.”

“Mmm,” Sunmi hums contemplatively. “I’d rather be busy and tired.”

“Why?” Chungha blurts.

“That way, I don’t think as much.”

There’s that smile again. A little sad, a little nostalgic in the way the corners of her lips lift slightly. Chungha feels her chest tighten, though she’s not sure why. There is something about listening to the melancholy between her words and noticing the smile that doesn’t seem quite right. It’s almost alarming, how different Sunmi seems to be right now. She is nothing like what her makeup artist describes—she looks more like rain than sunshine.

“Are you sad, sunbaenim?” Chungha cannot help the question that squeezes its way past her lips.

For a while, Sunmi does not answer and Chungha fears if she might have asked a question too personal, too close for comfort. Her fingers tighten around the can of coffee as the beginnings of an apology start to bubble at the back of her throat. Just as she parts her lips to apologize, Sunmi interrupts.

“I was,” she answers truthfully. “But I am better now.”

“I’m sorry for asking, sunbae.”

She apologizes anyway—that sad smile Sunmi wears does not sit well with her. Chungha wonders if the older girl was referring to her former group, Wonder Girls. (She also thinks that the term ‘former’ hardly encompasses what the group means to Sunmi—and what IOI means to her.)

Sunmi shakes her head slowly, “No. _You_ , of all people, would be most curious to know.”

Everything in her stills. She feels her blood run cold as she accidentally meets eyes with the older girl. Sunmi stares at her so intensely, it makes Chungha question just what exactly Sunmi sees. Is it her trembling, wary eyes or the misery she knows she holds in her eyes—the same misery she tries to hide away, tries to cloud with momentary and temporal smiles that feel too unnatural on her face.

She must be a terrible actress, because Sunmi’s stare pierces right through her and she has never felt so _naked_.

“You look so nervous and worried,” Sunmi says, placing a gentle hand on Chungha’s cheek. “It’s okay to let your guard down sometimes. You don’t have to keep everything to yourself.”

Chungha just blinks. These words make no sense to her. She is an _idol_. That means smiling even if she doesn’t feel like it, talking even if she doesn’t feel like it. Being an idol means not being able to do what you want. It means putting on a persona, wearing a mask like a second skin. (Maybe she has faked it till she became it—an empty shell, a shadow of her former self, characterized by memorized words and mechanical smiles.)

She brings the coffee to her lips, hands trembling as she drinks the coffee to soothe her suddenly parched throat. The brown liquid tastes so stale and so bitter, she wonders why she didn’t realize it earlier.

“Chungha…?”

“Sunbaenim, I’m so sorry. I would like to be left alone,” Chungha says with gritted teeth, wishing her voice did not shake so much.

Sunmi laughs, but her laughter sounds so odd, like it’s laced with something else. She laughs but it really sounds like she wants to cry.

“Even when you’re rejecting me, you still sound so polite,” she murmurs. “It somehow makes you more distant than you already are.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, head lowered.

Chungha averts her eyes, preferring to look at that ground. (She does not want to know how disappointment and hurt looks in Sunmi’s eyes.)

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the older girl says, tone a little more even, sounding more professional. “There’s still a bit of filming left so I’ll see you on set in fifteen.”

There is a tone of finality in her words and Chungha hates the way Sunmi just stands and walks away. There is not a single glance or wave thrown in her direction as the older girl leaves—a wordless farewell. It makes Chungha’s jaw clench but she knows there is no one to blame but herself.

All she ever does is watch Sunmi’s silhouette fade away, her heart in a disarray.

///

Chungha realizes that Sunmi is very good at her job. Whatever ambiguity between them seems to dissolve during filming. Sunmi continues to cling to her, continues to flash grins at her—her touch and her smile warming her skin and what lies beneath. (If not for the void in Sunmi’s eyes, Chungha would not have known better.)

She also learns that Sunmi hides herself well. Her impression of Sunmi really hasn’t changed much. She still thinks the girl is warm like the sun, but now Chungha knows that sometimes, being the sun means burning oneself.

When filming ends, Chungha goes around thanking the emcees and the rest of the production crew before heading out. Something nags at her to talk to Sunmi but she does not find the girl anywhere after she has made her rounds. Left with no choice, she simply leaves the building with her manager in tow. Just as she is about to leave the vicinity and approach her van, she feels water on her cheeks. (For a moment, she thought she was crying.)

All the strength leaves her body as she pauses, just standing there blankly. She can hear her manager calling for her, but she cannot process the words. Fingers wrap around her forearm and she is being pulled away, stumbling and tripping over her own feet. As she is being led away, she feels the same emptiness envelop her like a black cloak and she is thrown into darkness again—it is the same emptiness she felt, has always been feeling, since IOI disbanded.

Everything is a blur and she finds herself in the passenger seat of the van, with her manager beside her starting the vehicle. The rain is coming down harsher now, assaulting the windows loudly, almost as if it’s searching for her, wanting to rain down upon her. The water rushing down the windows distorts her view. The world outside seems like a mess of colors, but all Chungha can see is a monochrome.

Just as their vehicle passes by the entrance of the building, she barely catches a lone figure standing in the rain. Through the impenetrable obscurity, the single figure seems to be her only clarity. Something in her chest lurches and words tumble out of her throat hurriedly.

“Stop. Stop the car.”

Her manager is frowning, “What? Did you leave something behind?”

Chungha cannot remember, but it feels like she did.

“I need to—just stop the car. Please,” Chungha begs, voice cracking as she pleads.

Fortunately, her manager seems to have sensed her urgency, because he slowly brings the vehicle to a stop. Before she can yank the door handle and push the door open, he presses a small umbrella into her hand.

“I’ll wait for you in the carpark. Don’t take too long.”

She nods, pushing and sliding the van door open and stepping out. She opens the blue umbrella before running towards the familiar figure. Her heart is thrumming so loudly, she can hear it in her ears. She can’t tell if her heart is thumping against her ribcage out of the need for oxygen, or the yearning of someone. The figure looks up and lonely eyes meet her own. She sees the loneliness drain out of those eyes, recognition and surprise filling them instead.

“Sunbae,” her lips unconsciously mouth.

When she reaches Sunmi, she is panting, her sleeves and the cuffs of her pants a little wet from the heavy downpour. Sunmi is absolutely drenched from head to toe, her hair dripping and a few strands of hair sticking to her forehead. Her pale skin looks even whiter, void of signs of life—she looks like a beautiful portrait of sadness.

“Chungha… Why are you here?” Sunmi asks, eyes worried and downcast.

She blurts, “Why are _you_ here, sunbae? You shouldn’t be in the rain.”

Sunmi only smiles, but it is one that does not reach her eyes.

“It makes me feel less empty than I really am.”

Chungha doesn’t know what to do with that answer, so she just lets the words linger in the silence. It is an answer that Chungha is familiar with, because it is the same reason why Chungha chooses to stay in the midst of a downpour. But Sunmi—pretty, beautiful Sunmi whose smiles remind her of the sun—should not have her warmth dulled by the rain.

The rain crashes against the umbrella and everything else around them noisily, but neither of them care.

She cannot fathom why Sunmi insists on staying—in the rain, with her.

“Sunbaenim, you’re so stupid,” Chungha mumbles, lower lip suddenly wobbly.

For once, Sunmi laughs genuinely, laughter void of the sad undertones. She sounds exactly like the Sunmi Chungha first met in the salon. The boisterous laughter lifts the corners of Chungha’s mouth just a little and she doesn’t feel like she’s going to burst into tears anymore. Sunmi’s laughter slowly dies out, but she maintains a warm smile, beaming at Chungha.

“And here I thought you were polite,” she still sounds very amused at Chungha’s admission.

“Can I hug you?” Chungha asks, the words tumbling out of her throat even though she knows what Sunmi’s answer will be.

“Yes.”

Sunmi takes the umbrella before opening her arms, offering her embrace. Chungha settles into her warmth comfortably, wrapping her arms around the older girl’s waist tightly. The sunbae only giggles lightly, treading her fingers through Chungha’s hair gently. Sunmi’s embrace makes Chungha want to cry again and this time, she is unable to hold them back, the tears escaping her. She bites her lip to control her sobs, making sure they are buried at the back of her throat. She cannot help but cling onto Sunmi tighter, fingers wrenching into her damp blouse.

Tears trail down her cheeks, but it’s okay.

The rain will wash them away.

///

The scent of morning dew and after-rain is strong but not unpleasant. Fresh air fills her lungs and Chungha feels energized even though she lacks sleep. Sunmi walks beside her, bare-faced and soft-skinned. She was toweled dry and given a fresh change of clothes after much fussing over by her manager. Even though her hair is still slightly damp and her face is void of any make-up, Sunmi still looks beautiful. Rather than a stunning kind of gorgeousness, Sunmi now possesses a gentle kind of loveliness—with the warmth in her eyes and the baby pink of her lips.

Chungha figures she likes this Sunmi better.

The downpour has faded to a light drizzle and the morning sun is already out, casting its mellow light. It is still early, people are busy commuting to work and the park where they are leisurely strolling at is relatively empty. Chungha peeks at her watch, realizing that she has a schedule in two hours.

“You have a schedule later?” Sunmi asks.

“Ah—a radio show.”

Sunmi frowns, worry clouding her eyes, “You haven’t slept at all. Do you want to rest somewhere?”

“Sunbae, it’s okay, I don’t have anything after, so I can rest after that,” Chungha tries to reassure the girl.

The older girl doesn’t listen. Instead, she sits down on a nearby bench and pats the space beside her, beckoning Chungha to sit as well. Chungha nods, choosing to take a seat at a respectful distance from Sunmi. She hears Sunmi sigh and before she can wonder if she did anything wrong, the sunbae closes the gap between them, shifting so close that their thighs are touching.

Sunmi guides Chungha to rest her head on Sunmi’s shoulder, “Just rest for a while. I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

Somehow, Chungha cannot find the strength to protest, exhaustion suddenly washing over her. She exhales, relaxing against Sunmi, eyes struggling to stay open.

“Thank you, _unnie_ ,” she mumbles.

She barely manages to register Sunmi’s soft giggle, feeling the sleep overcome her.

Just as her eyes flutter shut, she swears she sees a beautiful rainbow painted in the sky.


End file.
